


Hard Sell

by oldandnewfirm



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:03:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldandnewfirm/pseuds/oldandnewfirm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ruby has something that Mr. Gold wants, and he’s willing to do anything— <em>anything</em>— to get it back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard Sell

**Author's Note:**

> Done for a fill on the kinkmeme. This was written prior to Skin Deep, so there are a few minor details in this fic that have now been jossed.

“You’re still down here?” Granny said when she opened the adjoining door between the inn and the diner. Ruby paused midway through scrubbing a skillet and turned to smile at her grandmother.

“Just finishing up a few things.”

Granny eyed the dish in Ruby’s hand. “Isn’t that Fred’s job?”

“He wasn’t feeling well. I told him to go home. I’m taking care of the rest.”

Granny squinted at her. Ruby’s smile didn’t falter. Finally, Granny shook her head and stepped back into the door.

“Don’t stay up too late,” she warned.

“I won’t. Goodnight!”

“Goodnight.”

The door shut once more, followed by the click and tumble of the lock.

Ruby let ten minutes go by, just in case. When Granny didn’t reappear, Ruby raced through the last of the dishes, slapped her dishrag over the griddle and the counter a few times, then retrieved her sweatshirt from the kitchen and yanked it on before stepping out of the kitchen door and into the night.

As she walked to her car, her fingers dipped into her apron pocket. They brushed the crisp edge of the note she’d found folded in there that morning.

_It’s come to my attention that you’ve made a recent acquisition that I’m interested in purchasing. I’d like to meet with you to discuss the terms._

The note was unsigned, but Ruby knew that handwriting better than she knew Granny’s face. And sure enough when she’d called his shop during her lunch break he’d answered right away, as though he’d had one hand on the receiver all morning.

She climbed into her car and checked her watch. Eleven thirty-seven. Plenty of time to get there by midnight, assuming there wasn’t any traffic. Hah.

The engine roared to life. Ruby whipped the car around until she was facing Main Street, then she gunned it out onto the road. If Granny had heard her leaving, Ruby could expect some snide comment in the morning about which guy in town she’d checked off her “hit list.”

Granny’s heart would give out all over again if she knew where Ruby was _really_ going.

At eleven fifty-nine she pulled up to the gate. She didn’t even have to roll down her window to hit the buzzer on the intercom; her tires had scarcely stopped before the gates shuddered and rattled apart, granting her access to the sprawling grounds of Gold’s estate.

Calling his place anything less than a manor would’ve been an insult. It was a two-story brick monster with chimneys for horns, and latticed windows taller than she was that watched her slow progress up the drive. From what Ruby could make out in the darkness, the grounds on either side of the building had been cultivated to imitate the forest ringing the estate.

So, this was what ownership of a small New England town could buy you. Maybe it was time for Ruby to consider a career in real estate.

As she parked at the top of the driveway, the front door of the manor opened. Mr. Gold stood silhouetted in the threshold, offering her one of those beatific smiles that always made her want to look down and see what trap door she’d stumbled onto. She grabbed a long, narrow box from the floor of the passenger seat, then stepped out of the car.

“Ruby,” he said warmly as she climbed up the steps to meet him. “Always a pleasure.”

“Yeah,” she said. If he’d noticed or cared that she didn’t share his enthusiasm, he didn’t show it. “Sorry about meeting so late.” She shrugged. “Work.”

“Of course. It’s no trouble at all.” He gestured into the room behind him. “Please, come in.”

As soon as she stepped inside, Ruby bit back the urge to whistle. She’d expected to find herself entombed in the same drab surroundings as his shop. Instead, the room’s color scheme ranged between the deep, chocolaty tones of the hardwood, and the shimmering—yet unsurprising—beige-gold of the chair cushions. Touches of gold were everywhere, she realized, but they’d been placed so well that she hadn’t noticed until she looked for them. The place felt expensive yet understated, just like its master.

“You know,” said Mr. Gold, startling her out of her wonder, “Besides Regina, you’re the first guest I’ve had here.”

“Really?” She said. She decided not to mention that the only thing that would bring someone up here willingly was a public service mission involving holy water and a stake.

The tone of the thought must have carried through, however, for Gold’s mouth turned down a fraction. “Would you like anything before we get started?” he asked. “Coffee? Tea?”

She shook her head. “I’m good. But it is getting late, so…”

“Of course.” The smile returned, though cooler than before. “Please, follow me.”

They ended up in one of the sitting rooms off the foyer. The fireplace in it was already going; the thing took up half the wall, and as soon as she and Gold took seats opposite it Ruby felt its heat curl under her skin and chase away all traces of the evening chill.

“So,” said Ruby, “How do we do this?”

Gold held out his hands. “If I may see it—”

But Ruby clutched the box tighter and frowned. “How’d you know about it, anyway? And don’t feed me that ‘little bird’ line you gave me over the phone. I only told one person, and they’d never talk to you.”

Gold’s hands retreated to his lap. “Perhaps you and Miss Boyd should be more careful about where you hold your conversations. You never know who’s listening in this town.”

“How—” she cut herself off. This was Gold she was dealing with, after all. The second she let him surprise her, she’d lose. “Okay, fine. But why do want it anyway? Do you know who it belongs to?”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” he said. “But weaponry, bladed weaponry in particular, is something of a specialty of mine. If I examine it, I may be able to determine its origins—and its value.”

Ruby chewed the inside of her lip for a moment. Then, she handed him the box.

“Don’t try anything funny,” she said.

He stopped fiddling with the box long enough to give her a droll look. Then, he popped open the lid.

Gold’s eyes widened, and like the gilt touches in the décor she’d have never seen it if she wasn’t looking for it. His long fingers vanished into the box and emerged balancing the dagger Ruby had found in the woods two days prior.

The dagger had a serpentine blade set in a sturdy leather handle. Whoever had crafted the thing had echoed the curves of the blade with an intricate border just inside the edges of the metal. All together it looked like a refuge from a Swords and Sorcery flick, but that wasn’t even the strangest thing about it. For on one side of the blade, engraved even deeper than the border, was a name: _Rumplestiltskin_.

Gold turned it over and over in his hands. “Truly a unique piece.”

“I thought it was fake,” Ruby said. “I mean, Rumplestiltskin? _Really_?”

“A later addition, perhaps,” he said absently. “But the craftsmanship of this places it somewhere in the 1300s.”

“What? What’s a dagger from the 1300s doing in Storybrooke? Buried in a box in the woods, no less?”

Gold set the dagger down in his lap. “I couldn’t say. What I can tell you is that its market value has been significantly reduced by the engraving. I’d be surprised if you got more than a thousand at auction, and that’s before all the fees are taken into account.”

He drummed his fingers on the metal. “Fortunately, you’re not at auction. And though it’s strange, I think the engraving adds a bit of charm. I’ll take it off your hands for fifteen hundred.”

 _Keep cool, Ruby,_ she thought, though it was kind of hard to do when the mini-Ruby inside her head was doing backflips.

“Fifteen hundred?” she echoed. “But you said yourself it’s not worth much.”

“On the market, no. But as you may have noticed from my shop, I have an affinity for unusual items.”

There was something almost…protective about the way Gold’s fingers were draped over the handle of the sword. Too late he noticed her noticing, and when their eyes met Ruby’s had narrowed.

“There’s more to that dagger than you’re telling me.” She said.

“Pure academia,” Gold said. “If you’d like to hear more about thirteenth century blacksmithing I’d be happy to oblige at a more reasonable hour.”

“You’re lying.” She leaned forward and crossed her arms over her knees. “Tell me the truth, or I’ll take it to Boston and get it appraised there. Think they’re going to feed me the same line? ‘Cause if not, you’re gonna be out a sale.”

Gold’s fingers clenched the handle of the dagger, and a range of emotions—most of them variations on the theme of rage— flashed over his face. Ruby didn’t even have time to be afraid, for all at once Gold’s shoulders slumped and he fixed her with an expression that would’ve evaporated lava.

“It’s mine,” he said through grit teeth.

“Yours?” she glanced from him to the dagger, then back again. “How? Better yet, why did you bury it?”

“It came into my possession. And I believe the reason most people bury things, Ruby, is to keep them from being found.”

“‘Came into your possession?’” Ruby said, complete with air quotes. She chose to ignore the second part. “So you stole it.”

Gold laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. “I thought so, at the time. It turned out that its previous owner had meant it for me all along.”

“Why?”

“Because I was the only one stupid enough to take it.”

Ruby scrubbed a hand over her face. “Are you screwing with me?”

“Possibly,” said Mr. Gold. “The important thing is that my offer still stands. Fifteen hundred for the sword. Will you sell it?”

“I still want to know why you buried it. The _real_ reason. I mean, what did you do, kill the guy with it?”

She’d meant it as a joke, but there was nothing funny about Gold’s answering laughed. Goosebumps prickled on her arms. Her eyes fell to the dagger, which was still in his hands and still very sharp.

“I did,” he said, “But that’s not the reason I buried it. It was to keep anyone from having power over me.”

“Power…what the hell are you talking about?” She was on her feet, now, and edging around the chair to put it between herself and Gold. The door was at her back, and her keys were in her hand. One good sprint was all that stood between her and freedom.

“This sword,” he said, “gives anyone who holds it power over me.”

“You’re crazy.”

Sure, everyone in town had suspected it at one point or another, but here was the proof—Gold was one hundred percent, board certified, abso-fucking-lutely _crazy._

“I’m leaving now,” she said, backing towards the door. In her head she started tracing the quickest route from Gold’s estate to the police station. “Mr. Gold confessed to murdering someone with a fourteenth century dagger” would certainly pique the interest of Storybrooke’s Finest.

“Will you take the money or not?”

“What?” She stopped. “ _Seriously_? You just told me you killed someone for some weird-ass sword, and you think I still care about fifteen hundred bucks?”

“You have to take it,” Gold said. He rose, sword in hand, and Ruby backpedalled further, but he made no move to follow her. “You have to accept the deal.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t just take this!” Gold snapped. “You must give it to me willingly or in exchange.”

“But…I gave it to you just now.” She gestured weakly to where it hung against his thigh.

“Pending the resolution of an agreement,” he said. “You didn’t offer it to me to keep, dear.”

A headache was forming just behind Ruby’s left eye. She wondered if this was going to be one of those scenarios where she’d wake up in the hospital with her head swathed in cotton and find out that she’d been in a coma for the last week.

“You really believe in this, don’t you?” she said.

“Yes, yes, I’m utterly mad,” Gold said. “Now, _will you take the money_?”

Ruby crossed her arms. She looked Gold up and down, taking everything in—the tense angles of his body, his white-knuckled fingers gripping the head of his cane, the furrow of his brow.

“Strip,” she said.

“What?”

“I order you to strip. I’ve got power over you, right? So, get to it.”

She imagined that the slack-jawed stare he gave her then matched the one that she’d been wearing for the last ten minutes.

“See?” Ruby said. “This is all ridiculous. Now I don’t know what freaky plan you had in mind when you lured me all the way up here in the middle of the night Mr. Gold, but if you think I’m going to be a good little girl and keep quiet about it then you—you…”

And that was the point where her train of thought dropped off the edge of a cliff, because Mr. Gold laid his cane over the arms of the chair, braced himself against one of the chair’s wings for balance, and began working his fingers over the buttons of his suit jacket.

It took a while for Ruby to realize that her finger was still dangling in the air, frozen mid-admonition. And it took longer still for her to remember language that hadn’t been plucked from the _Cro-magnon_ era.

“What are you _doing_?”

“Stripping,” he said. “Just as you asked.”

She shook her head. “If all of this was for sex, Mr. Gold, there were easier ways you could’ve asked me.”

“All I wanted was the dagger,” he said. When he finished with his jacket, he draped it over the chair back and moved on to his shirt. “Given that you’re the one in control here, it’s your intentions I’d be questioning.”

She dropped her face into her hands. “I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“I suggest you find it quickly,” he said. “I’m running out of clothing.”

Ruby peeked between her fingers. With every shirt button that popped open, a little more of Gold’s skin came into view. He was fit, she realized. It had been hard to tell beneath all his layers, but there was no mistaking swell and dip of his abs as he breathed. And, shit, she was staring. Shit.

She turned away. “This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous. I knew this was a bad idea.” She shook herself like a wet dog. “I need to leave.”

“Quite the contrary. I am, as I’ve said…three times now, prepared to pay you handsomely for the dagger. In fact, let’s say I sweeten the deal—fifteen hundred, and next month’s rent will be _gratis_.”

She glanced over her shoulder. He’d discarded the shirt as well, opting to drop it on the sofa cushion this time. That done, one hand dipped down and his thumb hooked beneath the prong of his belt.

“You’re really going to do it, aren’t you?” she said.

“Unless you tell me to stop.”

While Ruby considered this, Gold slid his belt out of his belt loops. Over time, Ruby had developed a Pavlovian response to the hushed sound of leather sliding over fabric: one moment she could be collected and indifferent, and in the next her whole body was primed and eager. It happened now, and she turned her back to Gold so that she couldn’t see what would follow, though her mind’s eye was happy to imagine it for her: his thumb flicking open the button of his fly, those long fingers of his pinching the pull of his zipper, dragging it down. She heard the sound of soft fabric pancaking over itself, and the creak of the floor as he raised one foot, then the other, to remove his pants.

He’d be standing there now in nothing but his shoes, socks, and underwear, assuming that he hadn’t removed the former to ease the removal of the pants. That seemed like the sort of thing he’d do. If nothing else, Gold was a man who prized efficiency.

“Made up your mind, yet?” Gold asked.

She sighed. Turned. Saw him just as she’d expected (sans shoes, even) but then again, maybe not, because the Mr. Gold of her imagination had always been a soft, pale old man beneath the confident smirk and the tailored suits. The man in front of her had the build of someone who’d either hit the gym three days a week or led a life of manual labor. And he was neither pale nor old, or at least no paler or older than a man in his forties ought to be. He…well, he wasn’t bad.

Her gaze flicked down, then up again. Not bad at _all._

This time, when he noticed her noticing, he smirked. And with that smirk came that pit-of-her-loins feeling that told Ruby some bad decisions were going to be made in this house tonight.

“Put the sword down,” she said.

He set it back in its box, then placed the box on the cushion with his sword and cane. Closed it, even, when he saw Ruby watching him.

Ruby took a step forward. The klaxons in her head were blazing. For some reason, they all sounded like Granny.

She went to Gold like a sleepwalker. He said nothing to her, not even when she rested a tentative hand on his chest.

“Is this real?” she asked, even though she could feel the pulse of his heart beneath her palm.

“Philosophy was never one of my favorite subjects, Ruby.”

“I meant—” she shook her head. “Never mind.”

“I thought you were leaving?” Gold asked. He sounded amused. When she looked up she saw that the irritation of earlier had disappeared, no doubt swept out by lust.

“I still can,” she said sharply.

“That would be a waste of my predicament, don’t you think?” he rested one hand on her hip and the other on her side, just below her ribcage.

She eyed him. “This _was_ a setup, wasn’t it?”

“No,” he said. “It wasn’t. But out of all the people who could have placed me at a disadvantage, I’m glad it was you. Fair?”

“I suppose.” She tipped her chin up. “You do realize that whole ‘the dagger controls me’ thing is crazy, right?”

“Of course,” he said. “In which case, you won’t mind parting with it.”

She draped her arms over his shoulders and pulled him forward. “Let’s consider this part of the negotiations. Impress me, then we’ll talk.”

“As you wish,” he said, grinning. And for a moment— _was it the chuckle in his tone, she wondered, or the gleam in his eye?_ —Ruby was struck by a sense of _déjà vu_ so strong that it nearly sent her reeling. But then Gold’s arms curled around her, and his lips met hers at just the right angle, and she forgot everything else.

* * *

Two hours later, she rolled onto her back, pushed sweat-slicked strands of hair from her forehead, and closed her eyes. The bed sheets beneath her tugged slightly as Gold shifted around, presumably into a more comfortable position. They’d managed some interesting ones, the second time around. Ruby was pretty sure her hamstrings would be filing a complaint come morning.

“Hey,” she said, after a while.

“Mhm?”

She opened her eyes, glanced over at him. He’d draped one arm over his chest while the other was crooked against his pillow to allow him to bury his fingers in the hair at his temple. He turned his head and his eyelids bounced up so that he could look at her, but judging by the way they were trembling he wouldn’t be able to manage it for long.

“I’ll take it.” Said Ruby.

He raised an eyebrow.

“The deal. Fifteen hundred, and a month rent-free.”

“Ah.” His lip quirked. “You were impressed, then?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she warned.

“My dear, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.”

She rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help smiling.

“Thank you,” he said, serious all of a sudden. “For returning it to me.”

Poor guy. He really _did_ believe the whole “dagger equals power” thing. Maybe that’s what happened when you spent all day alone, cooped up with other people’s memories—your own get so distorted that you can’t put them right again.

“No problem.” She patted his elbow. “And, hey, next time we can skip to this part without all of that…whatever happened downstairs.”

“Next time?”

“Well,” she admitted, “You _did_ impress me.”

He grinned, briefly flashing his gold teeth. That funky déjà vu feeling hit her again— _a different room, a different place, but always that smile, like the cat that ate all the cream—_ but turned to dust as soon as she tried to grasp it.

Great. They’d be hauling her to the loony bin next. _Well_ , she thought, looking at Gold, _at least I’ll be in interesting company._


End file.
